


wild card

by pidgewings (violentlypan)



Category: Let's Play Cyberpunk Red - Polygon (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Fixer!Vang0, Fluff, How Do I Tag, I'm not great at writing slow burn but this WILL take several chapters, Lots of backstory, M/M, Netrunner!Burger, Nomad!Dasha, Please Forgive me, Roleswap, Slow Burn, Team as Family, i haven't written romance in like 8 months, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26087782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentlypan/pseuds/pidgewings
Summary: Every action has its equal and opposite reaction.On a farm in Idaho, the Chainz family loses their farm to an agricorp. Burger learns to aggressively modernize, to code and to hack and to netrun and to change his name to Burg3r for the hell of it, because what else do you do? Join a Nomad gang, with no future? No way.After leaving her family in disgrace, Dasha breaks down on the side of the road, and finds that she can find agency in a new way with a new family, one she chooses as a Nomad. After all, family is really what you make of it, and she could use a break from the day-to-day life of constant scrutiny by the media and the harsh rules of her home.And in an empty warehouse, a man wakes up with no memory but the knowledge of everything and everyone at his fingertips. He finds himself moderator of a forum on which everyone knows a guy; it's not hard to blend in, to pick up the work of a Fixer, when you're a blank slate with nothing but a computer and an army of people at your disposal.Or: if Brian and Pat and Simone moved a seat to their left.
Relationships: Dapper Dasha & Burger Chainz, Dapper Dasha & Burger Chainz & Vang0 Bang0, Vang0 Bang0 & Burger Chainz, Vang0 Bang0 & Dapper Dasha, Vang0 Bang0/Burger Chainz
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	1. burger: forever endeavor

The old tractor is a rusty ol’ lump of trash and Burger’s been fixing it up for the past four goddamn hours, so he’s  _ very  _ grateful when he kicks it and it finally starts with its usual sputter-stutter-whine-purr shebang.

He’s out in the shed, across the potato field, near the chickens. ‘Course, he can’t leave the tractor running, so he turns it off; there’s a leak in the roof above it, he notices. He’ll have to fix that up; damn plastic stuff’s never as good as what they had before, but it’ll do for a patch or two. Sun’s high in the sky overhead, though, so he starts heading back towards the ranch house. 

He reckons he’s doing okay for himself. His sister and him’ll be inheriting the family farm, out in Idaho- managed to miss the free states and politic-type whatsit happening out on the coast, so life’s pretty good out here, all things considered. Sure, they’re poor as the dirt they till, and their horse’s nearly old as Burger is, but he’s got people who love him and always enough food-  _ organic  _ food- to go ‘round and a soft bed to come back to at night, in the room he shares with his sister. 

Speaking of. He’s nearing the house now, and well, it ain’t just his sister standin’ out front, but the whole dang family. Seem to be surrounding some sorta guy in a sleek ash-gray suit; reeks of city just lookin’ at him. An investor, maybe, he reckons. Draws closer. “Hey, uh, whas’goin on?”

“This slicker wants to buy the farm,” his Aunt Chickadee tells him. Her tone’s off; got somethin’ in the back that doesn’t sit quite right. Pissed, probably. 

“Like he and his agricorp have some right to our land,” his sister Dusty adds. His pop shakes his head. 

Burger glances back and forth between the group; big family on his left, Aunt Aubrey and Uncle Johannsen and Aunt Minnie with his baby cousin Lena and Aunt Chickadee, his mom n’pop, his sister, his cousins Vin and Lorex. On his right, the sleek smiling businessman, white straight teeth and crisp suit and pale skin. Fancy cyberwhatsit on his left eye like he’s sizin’ em up. 

Burger shrugs. “Oh, s’at all?” His stomach’s feeling something awful, and his first priority is lunch right now, so he heads inside. No chance in hell that idiot’s gonna get their house. They’ve lived there for decades, some agricorps bullshit won’t get them to move. 

He makes himself a sandwich with SCOP bread and lettuce and cherry tomato and eggs, then drizzles homemade mayonnaise over the whole thing. They’ll be fine. He’s sure of it. 

-

Four days later finds him with every last thing he owned in a couple of bags, sitting in the trunk of one of the two cars, Dusty next to him. They’re sat atop a plastic box that he’s pretty sure holds old music, doing their best to help keep the baby and the dog and cats occupied; Lena’s sitting pretty with the four kittens curled around her, Dusty’s got the old basset hound, and Burger’s got the old mama cat. He knows Vin and Lorex are in the next car over with the chickens, and Aunt Chick’s even got the horse, plannin’ to ride alongside til they can find a nomad gang to group up with. 

They peel out; Lena’s starting to tear up, prob’ly cause of the shitty mood, and Burger feels like he might just be ready to join her as he watches the family farm disappear- every memory he’s ever had, the days in the long sun with the hay and horse keeping him company, his mom leaning over the table to teach him writing on slate with a piece of chalk, the way her great-great-grandma learned on the same farm in the early 1900s. Sitting with his gram in her rocking chair as she taught him to sew and knit and darn his own pants. 

He knows he’ll never see the farm again, most like. If he comes back, it’ll have been turned into a regular factory of crops. Nothing to do for it. He can’t fight corporations.

Dusty’s got tears rolling down her cheeks as she stares out the back window, but she doesn’t say anything, just grabs Burger’s hand and holds it tight. Between them, Lena bursts into bawling, and plunges her face into her lapful of kittens.

-

They hit a rest stop after a while. They’ve been driving slow; can’t keep a horse in a car, after all, and Burger knows they’re talking about getting rid of it somehow. He heads out with one of the cream kittens in the pocket of his jeans for moral support. Privately he’s named her Chicken; he’s pretty sure you aren’t supposed to name barn cats, though, since his pop’s of the mind that you’re friends with dogs and not cats. Burger disagrees but he’s not telling. 

“I don’t like this idea,” he tells the adults as he walks up to them. Not that he’s not an adult, really; he’s 23 now, more than old enough to make his own choices, but he’s still as much the baby of the family as Lena is. He pets his cat nervously, running his thumb around her ear. It’s a comfort; they’re all lookin’ at him odd, like he had no right to butt into their talk. He reckons it’s hard to see him as any older than he was when he first got kicked by that donkey at seventeen.

“We don’t have much of a choice, Burger,” Uncle Johannsen tells him. “People been kicked outta their farms long as there been agricorps. Was only a matter of time ‘fore it happened to us.”

”Been a well-traveled trail, this one,” Aunt Aubrey chimes in. “Lots’a people been kicked out went t’join a nomad group. Safety in numbers, plus a real sense of community. It’s not so bad.”

“Right,” says his pops. “Listen, Burger, it’s gonna be okay. Our family’s been through a lot. We can take this. You just gotta be strong, okay? For everyone.”

Burger shifts as they move on to talking about lodging for people. Odd jobs they can take on. He’s…

uncomfortable. Sure, he’s gotta be strong, but… that doesn’t mean he likes this.

He heads back to safety, with Dusty. “They’re thinkin’ bout joinin’ a nomad gang,” he tells her. 

“And what do you think?” He’s sure she already knew; her tone’s real careful. She’s smart, smarter than he is; older, too. Was always the one of them made for good things. He can’t help but feel a little cowed by her, sometimes. Like she’ll leave him in the dust, someday. 

“I’m thinkin’ I’m not real fond of the idea. No future for nomads,” Burger says. 

“Not for most,” she agrees. “No SIN card, no money. Always traveling. Always in danger.”

He thinks on that a second. Living job to job, not even paycheck to paycheck; ten dollars a month if you’re lucky. Food’s whatever you can hunt off the highway, and you better hope it’s safe to eat. Sure, there’s family. Community. Still, he’s having trouble seeing the upside.

“You’d be able to see the stars,” he says, eventually. “Sometimes. When you’re not n’the cities.”

“You’d give it all up to see them?”

He pauses. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I should do.”

“You could leave,” she says, her eyes taking on a weird sort of fire. Stubbornness, maybe, or… maybe hope. Like this was the right question to ask her. “Leave it all behind, leave us all behind. You’re good, Burger. A quick learner. You could make it- take the horse, leave a note. You could have a future. Just adapt to it all- learn the technology and modernize. You’ve got the know-how and a sort of easy way of learning none of the rest of us have.”

“Without you?” he asks. He’s not afraid to admit a bit of fear’s in his voice. Dusty’s his partner in crime, his second half. There’s no way. “Dusty-”

She scoffs. “Burger, I’m- there’s no future for me in the big city.” Takes his hands seriously. “I’m a girl, Burger, and that means something here. I don’t have the strength to ride a horse all the way to the city. Never taught the skills to make it in a city where I’ll be constantly trying to prove myself. I’m okay out here, Burger, and one day I’ll prove it. Leave the nomad gang and make something of myself. Burger, but you- you have a chance now, and it’s the only window you have. Go now before you can’t go.”

“Vin and Lorex-“ he starts.

“-will understand,” she finishes. “I’ll help you draft the note. Go south; go to Salt Lake City or to Denver or Night City. You can learn the technology.”

“I can’t buy a computer, Dusty, you kidding me?” he says. “I don’t got money!”

She hesitates, then pulls a wad of cash from a pocket in her overalls. Stuffs it into his hand.

He stares. “Dusty?”

“I’ve been working online,” she tells him. “Got a phone and everything, been helping people find things. Sneaking out. I was gonna-”

“Then why don’t you come with me? You’ve- you’ve got the smarts, you and your fancy technical whatnot-.”

“One of us has to support the family,” she says. “It’s gotta be me. They’ll blame you if I leave, but they won’t blame anyone if you leave.”

“You were never planning to work on the farm,” Burger realizes.

“No,” she says. “Was gonna get out of there first chance I got. I was gonna join a nomad gang anyway, Burger. I want to travel. I want to see the open sky. But I- that’s not what you want.”   
  


His hands are weirdly cold, though it’s May and a warm one at that. “Dusty-”

“It’s okay,” she says, and it’s soft and understanding and somehow fixes everything. She was really the one to raise him; Mom had been laid up in the hospital with some awful sickness for most of his childhood. Was the one to take the blame when he got kicked n' shattered his jaw. He loves his mom, 'fcourse, but… Dusty and him were always closer. She  _ knows  _ him. She knows what’s goin' on in his head.

“Okay,” he says after a long second. 

“I love you,” she tells him, squeezes him tight. “You’re going to be amazing.”

“I love you too,” he says, easy as anything, doesn’t squeeze her back because he knows she hates it, but wraps his arms around her. “Please- please stay safe, Dusty.”

-

He leaves an hour later, Chicken the kitten in his saddlebag, poking her head out real curious-like. Well, it’s not just Chicken; he brought Rutabaga too, her gray and white sister. Didn’t want her getting lonely. 

He knows Dusty’s got things under control with the other Chainzes, probably already hid his letter- a sorry and a goodbye all in one, written in his neat script on a piece of cloth. He didn’t cry on it, because he doesn’t cry these days, but he felt like he might’ve once.

_ And really _ , he thinks,  _ it’s not like I’ll be missed. They’ve got enough mouths to feed. Especially when they’re not gonna be making money. There’s no way I”ll be any help to ‘em. _

His metal jaw aches already; there’s a storm coming, and hell if he wants to be riding during it. He spurs his horse faster. 

He’s not alone, but he sure as hell feels like it as he rides down the highway towards whatever’s ahead of him. 


	2. dasha: billy and anne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fine,” she retorts; she doesn’t need a bunch of Nomads helping her. Weirdos. As soon as the words are out of her mouth, though, they’re laughing at her.
> 
> What?
> 
> “Oh, sweetheart, no you’re not.”

The door to the driver’s side slams shut. Daphne turns the key in the ignition and steps on the gas  _ hard, _ peeling out from her designated parking spot outside of the family home in Baytown, NorCal.

Normally, if she’s this pissed, she’d turn on the radio. Blast punk rock and scream to it til her throat hurts and she has to turn around. But today’s different.

She speeds up to merge onto the highway. Her throat hurts already, though it's not because she's been shouting; it's tight and she swallows past a lump.

Fucking--  _ god.  _ She’s not sure if this is the worst or best thing that’s happened to her. No doubt it’ll be in the tabloids tomorrow- she can imagine the headlines now. “Daphne Darlene Disappears In Disgrace!” 

What does she even  _ do  _ from here? Where does she even go? She’s got no future. Heir to the Darlene fortune and probably the worst fucking possible child-

Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid. _ She shouldn’t have gotten cold feet over  _ this.  _ Some bullshit it is, yeah, but not  _ unexpected  _ bullshit. 

“Fuck this family,” she says aloud. “Fuck the press and fuck the media.” It’s weirdly cathartic to say, zooming down the highway, and she repeats it- repeats it- _repeats_ it- until she’s yelling it over and over and over again.

God, she’s been driving for forty minutes. She hadn’t even  _ noticed. _

_ Fuck. _

She needs to pull over.

She pulls over. Leans her head on the steering wheel, then readjusts when it honks the horn because this is her  _ fucking  _ life now, some shithole romcom for everyone else to watch. Watch her break down on the freeway like some idiot who can’t control her fucking  _ feelings.  _ Like she hadn’t been told time and time again that being a Darlene meant something to people. That they needed to be confident and beautiful and  _ perfect  _ for anyone to ever take them seriously. 

No plan. No future. No money except whatever she stuffed in the backpack in the back. No family or connections anymore. What the hell do you even  _ do? _

Turns out the answer is bite back a sob as your forehead rests on the plastic, pretend you aren’t crying even when there are tears rolling down your cheeks because  _ holy fuck _ this is a mess and she doesn’t know what she’s going to do from here. Well, that's probably not the right answer, but it's the one she's ended up with. _Fuck._

There’s a honk at her window, and she looks up sharply, ready to bite out a retort at whatever asshole-

well, plural, apparently. There’s a whole _bunch_ of cars stopped, blocking traffic in both directions, and there’s a woman by her window, knocking. Elderly and soft-looking, neither of which are particularly common these days. Other people are getting out of their cars, too; parents and children, people in all sorts of clothing. She rolls down the window.

“Are you doing okay, sweetie?” the woman asks.

“I’m fine,” she retorts; she doesn’t need a bunch of Nomads helping her. Weirdos. As soon as the words are out of her mouth, though, they’re  _ laughing  _ at her.

What?

“Oh, sweetheart, no you’re not,” a taller man laughs, and the woman looks at him sharply.

“This isn’t a spectator sport, leave her alone. Don't call her sweetheart. Can I come in?” she asks, turning to her, and her words are so gentle that Daphne...

does the dumb thing. Unlocks the other door and lets the woman slide into the passenger seat and rolls up the window.

“What’s wrong, honey?” she asks, and Daphne-

_ cracks, _ spills everything, tells her about the whole thing, every last bit- who she is, why she left (well, if that’s the right word, really) and why she’s upset. It only really occurs to her when she’s ranting:

“And- I won’t have enough money to keep myself afloat and it’s not like I have any fuckin’ prospects left, y’know, after that whole debacle, and I just don’t have _ anyone _ I can fall back onto-” that she realizes who the fuck she's talking to and why this is the dumbest sentence that's come out of her life in twenty-one years.

“-and of course you know what it’s like,” she finishes lamely. “You’re- well, you’re a Nomad.”

“I think I can solve at least one of those problems,” smiles the Nomad warmly.

-

Twenty minutes later and she’s being introduced to the gang full of people-  _ holy shit there are a lot of people.  _

“I’m Elizabeth,” the elderly woman says warmly. “You can call me Liz.”

“Call her mom,” one of the guys says, though not without humor. “She’ll get a real kick out of it. M’names Ant.”

“Ant,” she repeats. “Like, the insect?”

The others laugh uproariously as he sighs. “No, like, short for Anthony,” he corrects, “why is this so- shut  _ up,  _ guys.”

“Toldja so!” one cackles, tousling his hair not un-affectionately. “Call me Sock.”

The others introduce themselves in turn- she tries to keep track of them. Their names are  _ insane,  _ to Daphne. H igh society is full of repetition. Most kids are named normal things- “Mark” and “Robert” and, well, “Daphne,” all old names that sound pretty okay in Daphne’s opinion, names from Old Hollywood or from the most common baby names of the 1970s. But suddenly she's greeting Ant and Sock and Tigress and Elle E.D, and even those are easy compared to a teen with blue-green-purple hair who pokes their head out of the back of a moving truck and introduces themself as Manic Panic. A guy who goes by D- just D, nothing else- confides in her that Elizabeth definitely,  _ definitely _ just wanted her for the fact that, well, Flan is having kids and they’ll have less space in the car, and her car has room for extra stuff. Nobody's even _asked_ her her name. 

It’s a whole new world, to Daphne. Dozens of people, all flamboyant and strong and… proud of themselves. She couldn’t have  _ imagined  _ it- Nomads are supposed to be- have always been- people with no future, no money, no prospects beyond the open road. But these people aren't  _ bothered _ by it. They aren't shamed. They just… are.

So… she sits in the driver’s seat, and another person - “call me Ladybird!” sits in the passenger seat, and... it’ll  _ work out. _ She pulls back onto the highway with the rest of the crew, spaced out towards the end of the chain, and does her best to make pleasant conversation. 

Ladybird, as it turns out, is the daughter of two people who died in the Arasaka virus bombing of Chicago. She’s pretty, was born in Illinois shortly before the reconstruction process. A little older than Daphne- she’s about twenty-six, whereas Daphne is freshly 21- and she’s, well-

“Oh yeah, no, I really don’t drink much,” she says. “I’m a Zero, y’know?”

“A- sorry, a Zero?” Daphne repeats. 

“Yeah, like- wait, how do you-? It’s someone who doesn’t have a SIN card. We don’t exist as far as the government is concerned. How do you not-? There are, like, literal millions of us.”

Daphne stares. “I-- don’t know.”

Ladybird shrugs. Her hair is thick and curled in coils, and they bounce around her shoulders as she shrugs. It’s mesmerizing, a little bit. Daphne reminds herself sternly to keep her eyes on the road. “I mean, I’m not gonna question it. You wanna tell me your deal, that’s your prerogative, y’know?”

“Well, that’s- that’s fair enough,” Daphne says. “I- same to you? Is that? Applicable?”

She glances over. “You really don’t know how to interact with people, do you.”

It’s not a question, but Daphne answers it anyway. “Not really!”

“You’ll learn,” Ladybird says. “Live on your own before this?”

She’s silent for a second.

No, she wasn’t alone.  _ Ever.  _ That’s the right answer. But she was sort of alone; no friends, nobody to talk to but her family and the people they wanted her to talk to.

“No,” she says finally. “And yes. Sort of both? At the same time?”

Ladybird’s quiet for a long moment, then. “You want to leave the past behind, right?”

“I-” 

This takes a second to think about. Daphne… won’t ever be the same as these people, she knows. They’re intrinsically different; it’s in their hardware, in their code, glitched into their bones. She knows that while she would be okay turning to the police for help, they would never dare; that while she would have no problem accepting a house robbery and being okay with having to call the insurance agency to get reimbursed, these people would lose their entire livelihood. She knows that those zeros in binary code telling her to not be ashamed of herself have turned into ones. She can’t…  _ abandon  _ the past. It’s a part of her as much as everything else is.

But she wants to start a new tab of her life- it’s true she’s not a new person, but she’s going to be different from here on out. She doesn’t want to be Daphne Darlene, heir to Darlene Electronics and, well… and to Zetatech, if all had gone according to plan. Which, well. But- it's weird to get a choice in the matter. Maybe this is a trap of some sort.

She hasn’t answered Ladybird, and she withholds a wince at the thought of her mother scolding her for her rudeness. Returns her focus to the road, to say cautiously, “I’m… the past will always have an effect on me. I don’t want to be that person anymore, once.”

“So who are you, instead?” Ladybird asks. Her lips are lined with crimson, a sort of glint in her eye. Daphne can’t read it. Wonders if she made a mistake, for the ninetieth time today.

She exhales. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” Ladybird tells her. “You’ve got a new section in your Wikipedia article, so to speak. You’re the only one who can rewrite who you are.”

_It wouldn't be so daunting,_ Daphne thinks wryly, _if there wasn't a literal Wikipedia article about me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise she'll pick her name by the next time she's up in the initiative order! just had too much to fit in one chapter and it was too good a place to stop. 
> 
> got more coming your way soon! comments and kudos are my caffeine- drop me some motivation!


	3. vango: clean slated state

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another short setup chapter! vango wakes up.

The man’s consciousness returns to him in stages. 

First, he senses-

the cold of something- concrete? linoleum? under his back and fingertips and legs-

the skintight garment he’s wearing- maybe a leotard?

and then a bone-deep throbbing  _ ache _ throughout every part of him, settling deep in to rest beside the chill.

Then he  _ thinks- _

he feels like that’s always been something he’s good at-

realizes he has no idea what “always been” is, no memories. He can’t recall his own name, can’t recall his job or family or if he had a house somewhere, doesn’t know where he is-

recognizes he’s scared, and then he  _ feels. _

“Hello?” he calls out into the open room, getting to his feet. He’s shaky, wobbly on both feet. He’s got something cybernetic in one or both of his eyes, he notices; it’s got a weird HUD-style thing, zooming in on parts of the room intermittently. 

He glances at himself- sure enough, he’s in a holographic pink leotard, barefoot; he’s pale and thin, but what he notices more than that is the fact that he is  _ covered _ in cybernetics. Not full cyberlimbs, mind you, but- there’s a cybermodem along his left arm with a couple plugs already in, some sort of chip under his arm just above his second rib, a small plate of subdermal armor plating across his chest. What’s most notable, though, is the subdermal pockets; they’re barely noticeable, but the man’s hands go to them with ease, as though he was once practiced before he lost everything. His inner calf reveals a USB stick; the one by his ankle provides a carefully-rolled bit of cash, which reveals itself to be about 50 USD. The space above his hip reveals a piece of crumpled tinfoil; one on the opposite side of the chip provides him with a length of cloth, doubled over itself. A digital recorder unit, on the inside of his left elbow. This person- the person he  _ is-  _ was  _ rich. _ Or knew someone rich. 

He starts surveying the area. Nothing, nothing, no- hold on, there’s something on the floor.

He approaches; it’s a computer of some variety.  _ A MacBook V0B0,  _ his brain supplies.  _ Came out 2043. _

“It’s weird that I can remember that but not who the fuck I am,” he grouses aloud- partially because the silence is ringing in his ears, partially because he feels a little like if he doesn’t keep talking, he’s going to forget how. Cracks open the computer and doesn’t flinch at the bright light in the dim room. It’s weird; the computer opens up to reveal a webpage, already logged in.

_ Vang0_Bang0, _ reads the username on the jumptrash.net forum. He navigates to account info, and learns a little about himself:   
  


  * A moderator, apparently. He knows what the duties entail, but he’ll have to learn how that works.
  * A profile picture of himself. Sort of sunken eyes, a fluffy brown mustache, long bleached-blond hair; he touches each in turn. It’s accurate, and he stares at himself, trying to memorize his appearance. Or the appearance of the person who seems to be him.
  * Account creation date: January 1, 2045. Maybe a new years’ resolution?
  * Moderator actions taken: zero. 
  * Birthdate: December 3, 2025. Presumably his birth date, anyway. The computer tells him the date is May 30, 2045. He’s……. only 19, then. _That’s insane._



He checks his posts. There’s nothing but a draft- half-written three months ago. It reads:   
  


_ ‘Sup? My name is _

and then cuts off. He almost discards it offhand, but realizes:

_ what is my name? _

Vang0 Bang0 is a dumb name, he decides. A dumb username. He searches,  _ list of good names, _ and starts scrolling baby name websites.

And scrolling. And scrolling. Holy  _ shit  _ there are a lot of names. He doesn’t even-

_ god, _ that’s funny. He doesn’t even know what the fuck his  _ personality _ is. He doesn’t know who he is, how the fuck could he  _ name  _ himself? All he knows is he woke up alone and amnesia-riddled in what looks like a warehouse. He’s not gonna fuckin’ name himself  _ Dementia. _

“Fine,” he says aloud. “Vango’s a decent name.” He starts editing the draft:

_ ‘Sup. Vango Bango here- your new mod. Be good. _

He pauses. Feels like he should add something- likes, dislikes, whatever- but he doesn’t have any. 

He hits  _ post, _ pins it to his personal forum page.

Refreshes the page and he’s already got eleven comments  _ holy shit- _

Vang0_Bang0 [MODERATOR]

>‘Sup. Vango Bango here- your new mod. Be good.

| owobot

| >‘Sup!! Vango Bango hewe- youw new mod!! Be good!!! UwU

| poggerbin

| >welcome to the forums, vango

| Al3Uth3R1s

| >dude, how did you get mod status without posting once >:/

| notakatana

| >thats nepotism baby

| dinosex69

| >dude be nice theyre a mod

| whordurvs

| >welcome to hell

| septembre1

| >it’s not that bad

| junimo_kiss

| >x

| alarmflags

| jeez i didnt know there were mods on this site

| navysealstorm

| i didn’t even know there was an  _ owner _

| princessxpeach

| idfk but they’ve got a bit next to their name so i guess we’ll find out if it’s legit

He might as well, so he starts clicking on usernames at random. The first thing he notices is that there are a  _ lot _ of threads on this forum. He’s lost already by the time he clicks on “th3v3ngabus” just off the “My Little Pony Roleplay” thread, and follows their posts to a curious thread- 

He finds himself on the FindMeFixers thread. It’s full of posts such as:   
  


| monsterman

| >lf a person who does car detailing for a reasonable price?

| jglovesu

| >dm sent

| thatsthelore

| >dm sent

| thefinalc0untdown

| >dm sent

| editorcoops

| >lf someone who does replacement SINs

| brushybrushpen

| >price range?

| editorcoops

| 1mil eddies?

| brushybrushpen

| >tall task but dm sent

| sciencegal7300

| >dm sent

Vango keeps scrolling this one for a while. Considers the ramifications of making a post here as his first- looking for someone to find his history. But--

no, it’s too risky. Instead, he rereads the rules, and considers.

How do you find out about your own past when you don’t know what to look for? How do you get in touch with the right people when you don’t know anybody?

Well…

Vango glances at the cybermodem on his arm. It’s evidence of another life, maybe as a netrunner. But he needs more, right now. He needs something solid.

| Vang0_Bang0 [MODERATOR]

| >hey out of curiosity, if you had the opportunity to rewrite your entire life and you wanted to use that chance to become a fixer, how would you do that?

There’s a pause, then a flurry of pings-

| Vang0_Bang0 [MODERATOR]

| >hey out of curiosity, if you had the opportunity to rewrite your entire life and you wanted to use that chance to become a fixer, how would you do that?

| leetspeek

| >why would you voluntarily choose that option

| switchblade

| >this is a big hypothetical lmao

| sammysplannys

| >dang dude are you serious?

| Vang0_Bang0 [MODERATOR]

| >yeah

| leetspeek

| >dang, power to you!

| brushybrushpen

| >are you starting from zero, zero? like no possessions?

| Vang0_Bang0 [MODERATOR]

| >just a computer

| thefinalc0untdown

| >hardcore! okay so you’re gonna need an agent or a phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from here on out, chapters are gonna be getting ~longer!~ buckle up!
> 
> as usual, comments and kudos are my caffeine! keep me going during the stress of school


	4. burger: way down in rio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burger settles into Night City.

Burg3r Cha1nz heads into Night City and the first thing he thinks is,  _ wow, everyone told me nobody would give a shit, but people really seem to notice me here. _

Maybe this is because he is riding a  _ horse. _

It’s weird. He has seen nobody on horseback since leaving Idaho. Are people afraid of horses here? Why don’t people ride horses? They’re good for companionship, even if they’re not real comfortable. His thighs ache, sure, n’ he’s tired, but he doesn’t reckon that would have been much different had he come down by car. 

He stopped for a bit ‘roundabouts Salt Lake City ‘bout a month and a half in, just to rest up n’ get some food for Chicken and Rutabaga, an’ for himself, an’ the horse, who still hasn’t been named. Needs a good name. He’s lookin’ for inspiration. Salt Lake ain’t Silicon Valley, but it’s got some folks with technical know-how. Hooked him up with a place that could get him a personal Net hotspot and a laptop, met with a guy named Alkaline who asked no questions but taught him how ta code in C+++ and Twoby and Cobra. Downloaded him some resources in exchange for a spot of cash. Burger offered him a ride to wherever he’s goin’, but he’d shaken his head an’ laughed. 

Before he left, Alkaline’d eyed him up and down an’ said, “If you wanna be a real netrunner, you need a better name than Burger.”

“But I like my name,” Burger’d protested. “S’mine.”

“Sure,” Alkaline shrugged. “Spice it up a little, then. ‘Burg3r.’”

“That sounds the same,” Burger pointed out.

“Nonono- with a 3 instead of an e.”

And suddenly Burger Chainz was Burg3r Cha1nz (he wanted the last name to match) and he was ridin’ down to Night City to get him a cybermodem.

Which of course brings him to where he is now, realizin’ that he had nowhere to park a damn horse while he grabbed some food. He’s got tack, but that’s not gonna help much.

_ Well, I'm just gonna be a second. _

He ties her to a post outside an’ hurries in. He’s used to shitty food, now- was a real trip when he got off the highway for a second an’ all they had were Twinkies n’ cup ramen. Inside, though, ‘s real food- well, SCOP food, but real enough. He grabs enough for a couple days, starts checkin’ out, and starts hearin’ a commotion outside. As he leaves, bag full-

someone’s trying to steal his  _ damn horse. _

“Hey!” he shouts, sharp an’ loud. Walks towards him with as much menace in his step as he can muster. “Get off my horse.”

The person wavers, and Burg3r pulls the gun from his back for a little extra encouragement. They scamper off- didn’t have the guts to actually do anything, which don’t surprise him much- and he checks on his horse. She’s okay, if a little spooked, and he strokes her nose, considering. 

He darts back into the store for a moment. Picks up a bike lock. That’s good enough, right? 

One thing to do before he sets off, though- he cracks open a can of tuna he’d picked up inside, scoops out half with his fingers, offers it to Chicken. Once she’s had her fill, he gives the other half to Rutabaga. They’re lookin’ around all inquisitive. He hopes the air’s good enough here for ‘em. The horse gets a carrot and a side scritch- he’s gotta make sure to give her a thorough brushing, tonight.

Now to go about finding a place to sleep while he locates this ripperdoc Alkaline had mentioned. He doesn’t know his way ‘round real good, so he unties his horse and mounts up, planning to just ride around the city; it’s light outside but not for long, and he wishes not for the first time that he had access to some virtuality goggles. He’s all equipped now, got his hotspot and laptop, but he still can’t netrun; he’d done it a couple times on Alkaline’s set, but never on his own. Reckons he’ll get a virtuality eye installed; no reason not to, really, th’way he sees it. Maybe upgrade his jaw if he’s got the cash. He probably doesn’t, but… well, y’know, he’ll do it if he can. 

The issue right now is, he’s in the outskirts, and everywhere he’s lookin’, the people there don’t look real friendly. They’re sort of glaring at him and his horse, givin’ him this look like they’re sizin him up and wonderin’ if they can mug him. The answer’s… probably no, he hopes. His thoughts flash to the agricorp rep, sleek and fancy in a trim suit; he glances down again at the people looking at him. They look like him, in a way. Rough-round-the edges, crooked teeth, once-or-twice broken noses. 

He shivers a little and keeps riding.

-

It takes him  _ two hours _ to find lodging, and by that point he’s starving. Tired, too; probably dusty from the air and sweat-soaked from the sun. The guy he rents from looks nice enough.

“Hey, you looking for a place?” he calls from the edge of the road as Burg3r rides past. “I’m renting out storage containers. First night’s free.”

Burg3r pauses. Turns the horse around to head in his direction. “How much after that?”

“We’ll talk about that after,” the guy says. “If you’re okay with tying the horse outside, y’should be good. Your cats can stay as long as they’re sanitary and don’t scratch the walls. Bring your own furniture. No windows, either, but it’s the best place you’ll find in the city if you don’t have much money.”

“I’m in,” Burg3r says immediately.

The man smiles. It’s not an unsettling smile- just sort of gentle. “My name’s Spark. You got a handle?”

“Burg3r,” he says. “The e’s a 3. I’m lookin’ to stay a while, maybe find some work.”

“Had a long trip here?” Spark asks, eyeing his horse. He’s not wearing anything nearly as fancy as what Burg3r’d seen, but it’s still far-flung from his own denim; a black skintight top with a cropped pink jacket over top and black sweatpants with red racing stripes. 

“Yeah,” Burg3r says, dismounting. His legs feel weaker than a colt’s, but he follows the man to a post and ties the horse there, then bike-locks it, just in case. He’s got some feed, and he puts it in a feed bag for the horse. Starts taking bags and tack off. “Two months’ ride from Idaho.”   
  


“Holy shit,” Spark says, impressed-sounding. “Long way.” In a slightly more cautious voice- “Any reason for it?”

“Agricorps took my family’s farm.” He settles Rutabaga on one shoulder, saddle on the other. “Family wanted to be nomads, an’, well, that wasn’t really the life cut out for me. So I’m learnin’ to netrun instead.” 

Spark starts leading them towards the containers- heads around the back, shows him into one. “Sounds like you got a long story there, friend. Hope I’ll learn it all one day.”   
  


“Ain’t actually much,” Burg3r shrugs. Sure, there were eventful days- nearly caught out in acid rain, running from border patrol between California and NorCal, the day Rutabaga caught an entire  _ pheasant _ , so on- but nothing really all that. 

“I bet I wouldn’t say that. Do you need any help moving your stuff in?”   
  


“Nope, I reckon I got it.” Burg3r says, dropping his saddlebag and setting Rutabaga and Chicken down gently. They immediately start their investigation, sniffing around his feet and around the corners of the room. “Thanks for the offer, though, I appreciate it.”

“All right.” Spark nods a little, then backs out of the room. “Let me know if you need anything.”

-

Burg3r’s half moved in when he realizes he has no idea what kind of things he would put in an apartment. He doesn’t have much other than a bedroll, doesn’t have a place to sit or anything to cook on, doesn’t have a place for his cats to sleep (though he reckons they’ll probably end up sleeping on top of him.) He’s gotta make some money somehow if he wants, like,  _ furniture. _

Building a home here… ain’t a real good feeling to him. It’s a lonely city and he’s not sure what he’ll  _ do. _ He doesn’t have money. Doesn’t know who, how or where he can really go, and he needs rent…

He pauses. There is a horse that he doesn’t know what to do with. Running out of horse feed and doesn’t have money for it. 

He heads outside and locates Spark (who is still sitting in the same place, for some reason.) “Hey, Spark.”

“Burg3r! Something I can do for you?”

“Well, I gotta get rid of this horse somehow. You interested?”

Spark’s eyes light up. “For real?”

“Dunno that there’s much else to do with her, an’ you seem nice enough.” If he’s being real honest with himself, he didn’t think this through much beyond that. 

They strike a deal. “If you let me have her, I’ll give you two thousand eddies.”

Burg3r’s not real book-smart, but he’s street-smart. 2k isn’t  _ that  _ much, all told. It’s a lot, but not  _ that _ much. He’s probably gonna end up paying a couple hundred in rent every week, all told. “If I let you have her, you gotta give me free rent. I’ll toss in the tack.”

Spark hums. “All right, you have yourself a deal.”

-

Armed with the knowledge that he won’t have to pay for his lodging, Burg3r rethinks his plan. He’d saved some money for rent, but he starts thinking about what he can use it on. Save it, maybe, to send back to Dusty, but he figures since she doesn’t really have a permanent address that might be difficult. Could use it to buy some basic appliances; maybe a stove he can hook up some gas canisters to. The place probably doesn’t have running water or gas. It’s a miracle it has electricity. He runs through the things he'll need- furniture, appliances, virtuality eye, cybermodem.

He looks at the cash fanned out in front of him. Looks at his cats, who have settled round the small pile of belongings he has. If he loses this cash he’ll probably have to go hungry. 

Burg3r gets up and heads to the bank to open an account. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so damn long! Normally writing Burger is pretty easy for me to do, but for some reason, this chapter just really felt like pulling teeth and I'm still not 100% happy with it. 
> 
> I promise the trio will meet up soon! Just gotta establish them in their individual roles first. Next chapter: Dasha does some exploration and learns how to cope.
> 
> Please give me motivation for this! Comments and kudos are my caffeine, and y'all know I need that to survive these days.


	5. dasha: mountain man song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dasha, and how she gets to Night City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus FUCK this took so long to write. Sorry for the delays!

Daphne stays ten months with the nomad gang. At first, she’s not quite a  _ part _ of the group- kind of the weird outcast, the one who doesn’t quite know yet how to cook on the road or clean or fold her own laundry. Ladybird helps; she doesn’t judge when Daphne confesses she doesn’t know how to change a tire or make a bed or light a fire. It takes a while for them to warm up to her, but- 

it happens slowly. There’s a night they’ve pulled into an old, long-standing RV park in West Virginia, out in the shell of a forest, and the kids are racing around picking up sticks to feed the fire. Daphne is lying on her back, staring up at all the stars.

“Which one’s that?” she asks. Manic Panic, the teen with hair the colors of a peacock’s tail, seems to have a real affinity for astronomy, and when she points they squint- follow her finger- trace the shape of the constellation. “It’s Taurus,” they tell her. “The bull. People used to think, not so long before the fourth War, it meant certain things for people born around this time. That they were stubborn and strong.”

“Huh,” Daphne says. “What about that?”

“That’s Orion,” they explain. “He was supposed to be a mighty hunter.”

“The story goes,” Sock says, sitting down on her other side, “that Orion and Artemis- an ancient goddess of hunting- were good friends. Orion had a cool cybernetic eye. But he went insane and tried to kill all the animals on the earth, and the earth got mad, so it killed him with a giant scorpion. Artemis put him in the sky to remember him.” He sighs. “Maybe he should’ve upgraded his cybernetics with, like, lasers.”

“Did cybernetics exist back then?” Daphne asks, quirking an eyebrow.   
  


“Must’ve,” Sock shrugs. “I can’t imagine a world without ‘em.”

“You don’t even have any cybernetics,” Manic protests. “And you couldn’t afford them if you wanted one.”

“It’s the theory of the thing.” Sock sighs, leans back dramatically, drapes himself over Daphne’s shoulder. She cringes but doesn’t shy away. He straightens up anyway. “Oops, sorry. Hey, you can let us know if you’re feeling uncomfortable with physical contact, you know?”

“Uhh…” She hadn’t even really considered it. “I-”

Manic Panic looks at her quizzically. Sock looks not-quite-pitying, but closer to... concerned. 

“Daphne-”

“I know,” she says, cutting him off. “Yeah. I’ll- yeah. Just- yeah.” 

-

They head through to Nevada, next. The job here was a bust. But Daphne still got a couple of things out of it.

For one, Ladybird gets her a gift. They’re driving through some tourist-trap area, stop for a moment to pick up food, and she emerges from the store with an old digital camera. 

“I thought you might like this,” she offers. “You’re so amazed by your surroundings constantly, y’know? Might as well take pictures. They last longer.”

Daphne’s mouth falls open. “Ladybird, this- I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “Come on, I’ll take this leg.”

For another, on the road, they’ve stopped in Arkansas for a moment and she ducks into a coffee shop. She just needs a bag of coffee beans, but she figures… well, she might as well treat herself. She was able to pick up a quick day job copying paper files onto the computer at a little place in Tennessee, and they transferred her twenty eddies for it- which, she’s learning, is like… a  _ lot _ . She could buy twenty coffees with that.

“Name?”

  
She glances left. Sees the  _ MISSING _ poster that’s still on the window with her name on it. Whoever had made it used an actual picture of Winona Ryder, not of her. Panics. “Daaaashit.”

They scribble on the cup and hand it off to the next person, looking bored and chewing on their lip ring. “Next?”

Daphne regrets her life choices quietly as she steps aside to let the next person in line buy.

Eventually - “Small red velvet mocha for Dasha?” gets yelled and Daphne blinks.

Her name isn’t Dasha. She’d responded “Dashit.” But it’s definitely her order.

“That’s me,” she says, coming up and picking it up. “Thanks.” 

She takes a sip. It’s pretty shitty coffee. Heads out to the passenger seat of the car. Ladybird glances at the cup. “Dasha?”

She turns it around to glance at the scribbled Sharpie writing. “I panicked.”

“It’s a good name,” Ladybird says. “Dasha. I like it.”

“It’s growing on me.”

She kicks her legs up on the dash and takes a sip of the coffee and snaps a picture with her new camera, hanging around her neck. 

-

They hit Arizona and Ladybird confers with Liz for a moment at the border. Then, she knocks on the driver’s side window. Dasha rolls it down.

“Swap seats,” Ladybird says.

“I-- okay???” Dasha asks, putting as much question into her voice as she can. “Whyyyyyy??”

“Road trip.”

“We were already on a road trip?” Dasha buckles herself into the passenger seat as Ladybird slides into the drivers’ side. 

“Solo road trip. We’re ditching the caravan for a few days.”

“Wh- is that safe?” Dasha asks, a little high-pitched. The safety of being a Nomad comes in numbers, after all. She’s not  _ that  _ naive. 

“Should be if we make good enough time. Arizona’s empty, my dude.” Ladybird turns on the car and starts driving. “Basically just a deserted wasteland.”

“Okay, but I pick the music,” Dasha says.

“Deal.”

-

Twenty minutes later finds them flying through the desert, windows down, music blasting- Dasha’s making a playlist and Ladybird is yelling along and ignoring the speed limit and Dasha feels blazingly  _ aliver _ than she’s ever been in her life. It hasn’t been long since they crossed the border, but Ladybird wasn’t kidding about it being a wasteland.

“Apparently,” she’d explained as Dasha was getting the music queued up, “there was a big ol’ acid rain influx, oh, 1997, ‘98. That plus the second dust bowl an’ the climate change and the whole, y’know, corporate exploitation shit wiped out nearly everything else here. S’just gangs now, n’ militias to keep the peace. As long as we keep our heads down we’ll be just fine.”

“Oh,” Dasha says. “I thought militias went out of style in, like, 1776.”

Ladybird laughs. “Nah, they’re still kicking. Ooh, add  _ American Idiot. _ ”

Dutifully, Dasha adds  _ American Idiot. _ (Not the original; the 2037 remake.) 

Which brings them to where they are now.

“Where are we going?” Dasha calls over the sound of the music and the wind whipping through the open windows. Her voice feels like it’s about to be stolen by the sound and exhilaration of it all.

“You ever heard of the Grand Canyon?” Ladybird yells back, slowing down just a little.

“I-  _ really? _ ” Dasha remembers hearing about it, yeah, in like, third grade history classes. Had never visited it; her family wasn’t super keen on leaving NorCal. 

“Yeah,” Ladybird says. “I used to live around there! I figured I’d take you out there. Used to be a huge tourist trap, but nowadays there’s not many people. Everyone cleared out during the second Corporate War, and some vandals came through a couple decades back and smashed out all the glass bridges and gates, so it’s just climbing. It’s fun!”

“You’re- we’re climbing the Grand Canyon?”   
  


“Little bit,” Ladybird says. “If you want to. Figured we could get some good photography shooting out there.”

Dasha pauses, bounces her leg along to the music. “How long have you been with the Nomads, Ladybird?”

“About seven years,” she says. “I’m a newbie, relatively speaking. Liz’s been since she was about eight years old, so, y’know, in the grand scheme of things. Been a while since we had anyone as fresh as you, though.”

Dasha thinks on the A she got in history, where she learned that everyone was accounted for, that poverty and sickness had all been wiped out, that everyone was enfranchised and happy and safe and healthy.

“I’m gonna learn a lot here,” she says. “It might take some getting used to.”

-

The canyon is fucking  _ spectacular.  _ Dasha has to remind herself there’s not much battery in the camera and she doesn’t have the money for more, right now. 

Ladybird picks her way down the canyon, carefully moving along old, once well-traveled trails. Dasha follows unsteadily; she’s never been hiking before, never walked anything but worn pavement and concrete. The red rock beneath the soles of her boots has a certain smell to it- earthy and dusty and so much realer than the city stink. 

“Are we going all the way to the bottom?” Dasha asks, crouching to try (and fail) to catch a picture of a small mouse with long legs and weird, fluffy antennae. It scampers away into a crack in the rock before she can. 

“Where would the fun be in  _ not _ doing that?” Ladybird calls back. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“What about- rattlesnakes and things like that?”

“Those guys? Naah, they wouldn’t actually bite unless you get too close. I’ll keep you from doin’ that, no worries.” Ladybird glances up at a weird bush that’s grown in a pattern, and Dasha follows her gaze. “The radiation’s made it out here, I reckon. Damn ozone layer deteriorates more every day. Makes all the plants and animals mutate weird. You’ve seen the bugmice; there’re two-headed snakes and weird cats with too many toes and tails.”

“Really?” Dasha asks. It’s hot outside; she can feel sweat making its slow, winding, tickly way down her back. Ladybird’s not faring much better; there’s a sheen of sweat against her face. Dasha tries not to stare. 

“Yeah, give me the creeps,” she says. “Come on, let’s get to the bottom.”

-

They hop down.

Well, hop isn’t the right word for it; it’s picking their way down eroded, crumbling trails, Dasha catching Ladybird when the step ahead of her collapses, and Ladybird pulling her back in turn when she got a little too close to a rattlesnake she was taking a picture of. They make it to the bottom by dusk. Dasha can see real stars overhead.

Ladybird follows her gaze up, up, up, to the twinkling lights overhead. Like they’re in a dark enclosure, pinpricks of light pushed through the top with a pushpin. Ladybird sighs. “You used to be able to see thousands of these at night.”

“I’ve seen the pictures,” Dasha says. There’s a sort of hesitation in the air- the sort of pause that needs to be filled. The sort that urges you to elaborate. To say more. To leave the pause hanging now would make it awkward, so she keeps talking. “You know I spent my whole life til now in NorCal? We took a trip to France once. It was the first time I’d been out of the state. Modern three-story house, two cars, swimming pool.”

Ladybird doesn’t say anything, so Dasha presses onward. “It was like it was before the corporate wars, I think. We raised butterflies in a big plastic tube in fourth grade. I had prom night. Went to a big private school. Graduated and didn’t even have to get a job. I thought that was just how everything was. You’d go to college, if you wanted, and not have to pay a red cent. Wars? Those were just some faraway thing to be chatted about at dinner.

“I think I like it better now, though.” 

Her voice fills the gorge, echoes around the canyon walls. Night has set in, now. There’s a darkened sky, and as she glances to her left she notices Ladybird is looking at her- not with any form of emotion, not really, not glaring or staring- just looking.

She smiles, a little nervously. “Ladybird?”

Ladybird shakes her head, snapping out of whatever-it-was. “Oop, sorry. Just. Dozed off for a second there. Anyway, uh. We should start. Heading back to the car?”

“Yeah, I-”

“Hey.” 

They both wheel around at this third voice to find what appears to be a sort of half-formed band of- well, the word that comes to Dasha’s mind is  _ ruffians, _ but what they really are is probably something closer to gang members, she thinks. She shoots a half-a-glance at Ladybird.

“What are you doing here?” the leader(?) jeers, stepping closer.

“Didn’t wanna cause trouble, Rook,” Ladybird says smoothly. “Wasn’t aware you’d moved on down to the gangs.”

“Wasn’t aware you started bringing girlfriends home,  _ Ladybird, _ ” one of the others jeers. Dasha has half a mind, for a brief moment, to ask if she knew them, once, but holds her tongue. 

“We were just leaving. Give the others my regards.”   
  


“Oh, you aren’t getting back out that easy,” Rook(?) growls, and Dasha picks up the closest thing in her vicinity- has to grope around a second to grab it- and has just enough time to think  _ huh, that’s a weird texture _ before hurling it at his face.

The rattlesnake writhes, sinking its double heads’ open fangs into his forehead, hissing and spitting, and Ladybird grabs Dasha by the arm and yells “RUN!” and Dasha is  _ not  _ about to ignore that order, no thank you sir, so they scramble back up the rocks, pell-mell after one another, slipping on loose stones. They make it back up in a  _ fraction _ of the time it had taken to get down (about twelve minutes of hearing yelling and screaming behind them, but that’s twelve minutes too long) and don’t stop sprinting until they fling themselves into the car, panting and wheezing and draping themselves very dramatically across car seats. 

“What was that?” Dasha asks when she’s got the breath to. 

“Old friends. They went out and decided that a gang would be better for them,” she says. “When I was about 14. Lots of people from the town did.”

“Ah. So they’ve taken up residence in the Grand Canyon?”

At this, she looks a little guilty. “I sort of wanted to see. If they were still there, that is. It’s been nine, ten years now? I didn’t think they’d make it down there, now that the water’s dried up.”

Dasha pauses. Considers. On the one hand, Ladybird had just knowingly brought them into a violent situation, guard-down. On the other hand, she can’t really  _ blame _ her. “I think I get it,” she says. “I’d probably do the same with my family. Sorry for throwing a rattlesnake at yours.”

“That was the  _ dumbest thing, _ Dasha,” Ladybird says, and starts gasping again- it takes a moment of Dasha terrified that she’s having an asthma attack for her to realize she’s  _ laughing, _ uncontrollably, tears forming in her eyes. “You just fuckin- flung it! At them! No hesitation about  _ picking up a snake!  _ Oh my god, Dasha, we’ll make a Nomad of you yet.”

Dasha flushes. “I didn’t actually mean to pick up a rattlesnake. It was- kind of accidental?”

“It was  _ beautiful _ is what it was,” Ladybird cackles. “I could  _ kiss _ you, Dasha.”

Her heart does a funny thing in her chest. 

It must show on her face, because Ladybird pauses and pulls herself entirely back into the passenger seat. She’s not scrunched up, exactly; she wouldn’t do that. But she’s not as confident as Dasha usually sees her. Dasha sits back up, too. She feels hot all over. Like with a touch she’d combust, lit match to the white-fluff of a dandelion. 

There’s a cautious exhale. “Dasha, do you-”

Dasha’s kissed people before. Not often, and not women, but she has- and she’s pretty sure it’s bad etiquette to do what she does, which is to say to pull Ladybird in by the back of her head, no seatbelts to stretch as she leans forward to meet her over the center console and kiss her.

They break apart after a second. Ladybird’s eyes are wide, then they squeeze shut an instant before she darts forward and kisses Dasha again.

_ Oh, good,  _ she thinks for an instant before they break apart. “Uh-”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Ladybird says, the words coming rushed out of her mouth. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Dasha says. 

-

They’re not a thing, after that.

Not  _ really. _ Of course, Dasha and she haven’t. Talked. Or anything like that. But she’s comfortable letting them just be friends who kiss sometimes. And hold hands over the dashboard as they make their way up to Utah. 

The rest of the trip is normal, by comparison. Empty brushland-desert, stopping the car every so often to pop the hood and cool it down. Skidding tires against the salt flats of Utah and lying on their backs in the backseat talking about their past. Ladybird worked retail, once, standing behind a cash register for hours on end, selling fake trinkets to survive. She hopped on with the Nomads when they passed through. It’s hard for Dasha to reconcile that image with the strong woman lying next to her. 

In return, she tells Ladybird about her past. It’s easier to process, out here. They’re lying out there one starlit night, just past the border into Idaho, and she tries to put it into words.

“When I was younger,” she explains into the silent still air, “I had a friend. Well, really he was more of an acquaintance. We went to the same school, like everyone in that area did - and we were  _ supposed  _ to be friends with each other, but I really didn’t like him. He was an asshole.”

“You were supposed to be friends?” Ladybird’s voice is equally calm, lilting at the end. A question and a comment all at once.

Dasha exhales. “Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t- it was for power, of course. We were supposed to be best friends. We were left in empty rooms together to get to know one another. We were about ten, I think. And he was the son of the- ah. Of, uh, the guy who runs Zetatech. And my mom ran Darlene Electronics.”

There’s a pause. The words sink into the warm air.

“For power,” Ladybird repeats.

“Yeah. Uh, turns out, not so great- they wanted us to get married, or some shit, when I hit 18. And I just- didn’t- I hated him. So I told my parents I wasn’t gonna do it, and they told me I was going to or they’d get a court order and make me do it, and we fought. So I left.”

“I can’t picture you in a bride’s dress, anyway,” Ladybird says, lighthearted. Breaks the tension layering the conversation, spoon cracking toasted sugar.

“I would’ve  _ hated _ it,” she smiles. “I wore dresses, sometimes. But a bride’s dress is something  _ else, _ man. Give me a suit over that any day of the week.”

“You’d look good in a suit,” Ladybird agrees. “But I think it would be too classy of you at this point.”

“Right.” Dasha affects the twangiest accent she can muster. “Ah’ve been livin’ wahld naow, daaurlin’.”

That does it- breaks the tension fully as Ladybird lets out a snort so loud she almost rolls off the car. “Livin’ wahld, naow, Dea-shuh? Out’ere awn th’oupen raenge?” 

“Okay, stop, stop, we can’t keep doing this,” Dasha laughs, eyes shut. “Fuckin’ gonna give me an aneurysm if I keep going.”

-

They catch back up with the rest of the Nomads. Keep driving for a while. It’s nice, to be honest; Dasha’s learning how to be friendly, how to talk to people. How to  _ know _ people and just enjoy their presence unconditionally. 

She’s learning other skills, too. When she catches back up with the others, she follows Manic Panic out to a job. Learns how to haul and heft equipment and, when it goes wrong, she gets a  _ very,  _ uh,  _ rushed _ lesson on how to use a rifle. After that, Elle E.D and Ant take it upon themselves to teach her hand-to-hand combat. It’s exhausting and leaves her sore more days than not, but it’s  _ electric _ , the feeling of landing a good hit. 

And then there’s the bomb.

Tigress comes darting into the camp one day, where they’ve set up at the burnt-out remnants of an RV park. “Someone fucking nuked Arasaka,” she announces.

Dasha’s up in a flash from where she’s been poking at the asphalt. “The corp offices in Night City?”

“No, the loading docks off the coast-  _ yes the corp offices! _ Where the fuck is Liz?”

Ladybird hops to her feet. “I’ll wake the camp. Dasha, go get Liz.”

-

The entire gang is up on their feet minutes later, Flan carrying her kids and D’s hair still sleep-ruffled and Sock bouncy with anxiety. 

“I was down by the gas station,” Tigress explains. “They had the news on. Reporter live in Night City, doing a report on some nearby tech company. Suddenly the feed goes static and when it returns after a minute or two, the reporter’s fucking gone. So’s everyone in the entire frame. The nearby buildings are fucking dust and Arasaka Tower’s just  _ gone. _ Whole gas station went fuckin’ silent.”

Elle E.D. takes over there. “The Net’s saying that there’s 1.5 million people homeless and counting. Huge areas of the downtown area vanished in an instant. Nomad gangs are starting to pour in to offer support to the survivors. I think we should volunteer our services.” 

“I think we should put it to a vote,” Liz says. “We don’t have many resources as a small band, and I don’t want us getting in a fight with other gangs, but I also think it’s important to help out where we can.”

“All in favor of helping, raise a hand,” Sock says. 

Dasha hesitates. She hasn’t been to Night City before. It’s a big place, full of businesspeople and. Well. Her family is there.

But she’s changed a lot since she left. Her hair is long now, her face different, her name different. She’s older now, and stronger, and smarter. 

She raises her hand. Glances around. They’ve got a majority already, seven-to-three. (Well, seven-to-four, but she’s pretty sure they aren’t letting Flan’s newborn have a say in the matter.) 

“I guess that’s settled, then,” Ant says. 

Flan hikes her newborn further up on her hip. “Yolo, and all that.”

-

They head to Night City.

It’s a big place, and it’s true that it’s  _ full  _ of Nomads. As they drive down, it’s obvious; they join more and more Nomadic groups until they’re traveling in a huge line down the interstate. Most of the others are super generous and kind- eager to lend them safety for the night, trade off night watch, swap clothes and food and weapons and jokes. Some are fiercely independent- turn up their nose at the very concept of being joined for the night for safety, keep huddled tight and distrustful. No fire is exchanged, though, and the tension between those groups remains tight but never coalesces.

Of course, there are some problems-

the parking lots are full to the brim, and they have to pull all the way off the highway a few times to find places to sleep, and it’s nearly impossible to find a truck stop with any food stocked let alone an empty functional bathroom-

but overall Dasha doesn’t mind. She meets new people by the truckload, no pun intended; there’s a little 2-seater car that’s got five people crammed in it and a minivan piled so high with equipment that you can’t see out the rearview mirror in front of them. At one point they’ve found an RV camp to stay the night, and Ant disembarks last and his gaze snaps to a point past them and he goes sprinting out and tackles someone to the ground who turns out to be his best friend from childhood. 

The trip down is unlike anything Dasha’s ever experienced. She gets a very good aerial shot, early one morning, up in a dead tree, of the slow-moving snake trail of cars and trucks and bikes. A few of the group sitting around a fire, trying to boil cup ramen and chatting with a group who call themselves the Homecomers. 

As they reach Night City, the mood grows more somber.

The issue is immediately apparent. The center of the city is a bombed-out wreck, and the streets are full of people- homeless, jobless, foodless. Dasha’s Nomad gang parks outside the city and gets to work.

Ant and Elle and Sock immediately sign up for construction jobs in the center, hauling rubble and clearing sites. Liz and D work with medical volunteers, handing out water and food and helping addicts get where they need to go. There’s a local militia growing to aid the rising crime rates and levels of police brutality, which is where Ladybird and freshly-of-age Manic sign on; Dasha is left with the realization that she has no skills with which to help, and not enough money to help outside of that.

She confides in Ladybird and Liz about that. “I just feel so- gah, it’s like there’s just nothing I can do! It’s the worst!” 

“Hey, you’re helping,” Ladybird pats her shoulder. “We still need people back here, taking care of Flan and her kid. Besides, you’ve put in some really valuable work with the other groups.”

Dasha drops her head onto her crossed arms, rested atop her knees. “It just doesn’t feel like it’s  _ enough. _ ”

“If you want,” Liz offers after a moment’s thought, “I saw an opening for a part-time cab driver around the south of the city. You could pick up some hours there and help make money for the group.”

Dasha muses on this for a moment. “What’s the pay?”

  
“Dunno. Didn’t say.”

“I think you should take it,” Ladybird says. “You like meeting new people. You could probably pull it off.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” she sighs, mentally running through all the shit she’s gonna have to clear out of her car.

-

She gets the job.

Of course, she gets the job by walking in and almost getting hit by a chair flying across the room, from some tweaked-out dude insisting that his ride should be free, and carefully removing the man to the outside (read: threatening him with a gun,) and sauntering in and saying that she was interested in the job. The dude behind the desk seems grateful. Hands her the paperwork and a pen and a pat on the back.

She fills it out and she’s got the job.

Well, that was easy. 

Taxi driving is fun, she finds. It’s not long before she learns that. Her first client is a young man, dressed in suit and tie, of a fashion long-forgotten; it almost sends her straight back to NorCal for a second before she blinks and refocuses. Nope. Night City. Eyes front, hands on the wheel.

She doesn’t try to start a conversation. He doesn’t, either. But he looks nervous; his face is sweaty, and his hair over gelled. Eventually, she bites the bullet-

“Going to a job interview?”   
  


“Wh- uh?? I mean. No. Yes. No?”

“I mean, it’s a question, there’s no wrong answer,” she says, levelly. He seems even more nervous than before. “I’m not gonna, like, yell at you if you’re not.”

“I- yeah. Yeah, I am. I’m- it’s my first job interview.” Ah, so that’s why. 

“Good luck, bud. What’s the job?”

  
She finds out that he’s a software engineer, or planning to be, anyway. He’d gone to college-  _ college! _ Another long-forgotten word- and gotten a  _ degree, _ probably for some absurd million-Eddie sum. Colleges might still use dollars, actually. Real American money instead of just crossovers from Europe. 

The next passenger is a person who’s half-covered in metal plating, and the next after that is a woman in bizarre robes. Each person who enters is zanier than the last. And she finds herself  _ loving  _ it, even that time she gets held up-

“Now, you’re gonna put your hands on the front of the car,” the woman had said, with a gun aimed for Dasha’s head, and Dasha smiled back at her.

“I don’t think I will, bud. Listen, if I give you half-fare, can we just let this whole thing slide?”   
  


The woman’s gun had dropped, pointed at the ground, and she’d sort of slumped with relief. Dasha was unsurprised; most people didn’t have what it took to shoot someone, actually, and just needed a little bit of a boost. At least, that’s what she had learned while she was a Nomad.

She ends up loving it… like, a lot. She really, really comes to enjoy it. And she enjoys part of it even better- the  _ money. _ It’d been a while since she  _ earned money- _ and five eddies a ride is no small thing, either. She’s made enough to probably rent an apartment by the time that the other Nomads decide to move on.

They’ve got a few new members in the mix, lost a couple more; it’s natural, with the close mingling of the groups. Dasha and the others say their goodbyes.

She seeks Ladybird out, the night before they leave.

“You fell in love,” Ladybird says.

“I- well, I guess. With the city?”

“Yeah. Lots of people do. It’s a shithole, but some people are just drawn to it,” Ladybird laughs. “That’s part of why we never come through here. We lose people to it every time, and we try and space that out so we don’t lose all our members in one fell swoop.”

It’s a joke, and not. They both know that while on the outside this was no-strings-attached, they’d formed a pretty close emotional bond; maybe not romantic, sure, but platonic. Dasha glances her way.

“You’re allowed to be sad that I’m leaving,” Dasha says, and Ladybird lets out a long exhale.

“It’s selfish of me,” Ladybird says. “But I hate people leaving.”

“I don’t think that’s selfish. I think that’s normal. People leave all the time. But it doesn’t hurt any less.”

There’s a pause. A breath of air. No birdsong; there aren’t really any birds around here.

“Seems like you’re always the one doing the leaving,” Ladybird says finally.

Dasha doesn’t know what to say to that.

They sit in a complicated silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed this MUCH longer chapter! Told you it'd be ramping up. (I think I did. It's been a couple months since I last wrote a chapter, don't @ me.) 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my caffeine! And Boy Howdy Am I Tired. Turns out junior year is,,, like,,, difficult.
> 
> (Shocker, I know.)
> 
> OH ALSO I WROTE A PLAYLIST TO GO ALONG TO THIS BACK IN FUCKIN' OCTOBER PLEASE LISTEN TO THESE SONGS AND ENJOY
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/710V7RhTeKayEJ149eR7Gt?si=xbiS75TRR6ScWe9MQ1cFEg

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the longest fic that I've ever had a concrete plot for! (Spiders doesn't count because I had NO clue what I was doing.) If you're here from my Daredevil fanfic... buckle up, shit's about to get real and maybe you should go watch the source material. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are my caffeine! Come give me motivation :)
> 
> -Pidge/Red


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